


Sharing a Bed is Difficult (Even When it's with You)

by naegkawa



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: F/F, Fluff, One Shot, Sharing a Bed, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24689653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naegkawa/pseuds/naegkawa
Summary: Buddy likes to fall asleep in Vespa's arms. Vespa finds it difficult to share a bed with someone, even someone as wonderful as Buddy Aurinko. But, hey, they can make it work.
Relationships: Buddy Aurinko/Vespa
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	Sharing a Bed is Difficult (Even When it's with You)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by me being a major fucking sap. the title is from a song a friend from college wrote. it's very cute and also sappy.

Buddy Aurinko had spent 15 years waiting for the day where she could fall asleep in the firm embrace of Vespa Ilkay. Vespa’s well aware of this, of course. Buddy has  _ always  _ been the kind of person who felt most comfortable sharing her body heat with another. She’s  _ used  _ to sharing her sleeping spaces with others. As a young child, she and her older sister had to share a bed during the occasional extended stay at the prison their father ran. It was simply something she had been able to… adjust to. Something that, even now at fifty, she finds comforting.

Vespa isn’t the same way and she never has been, in all honesty. She values her own space, the freedom to toss and turn and contort herself as she pleases. Sleeping with someone adds far too many factors— trying to make sure their combined body heat doesn’t leave them both hot and sweaty, trying to prevent the arm that is underneath her from going numb with that awful pins and needles feeling. It’s hard— she’s always  _ hyper  _ aware of the other person’s presence. Even before the radiation scrambled her brain like an egg, it made her paranoid and anxious. Buddy would move her arm the wrong way, and Vespa would practically jump from the sheets, brain on high alert.

It’s even harder now, because the two women seem like total strangers once more. Of course, Vespa knows it’s her Buddy, though the age and Martian desert had done its work. Simultaneously, however, there are parts of her that are so similar: her fiery red curls, her smile that has stolen Vespa’s breath for over two decades, the way her voice is so  _ breathless _ when she’s in awe. What defines her as Buddy most though (something the hallucinations in her shape never quite managed to replicate) is the way every bit of her makes Vespa feel— powerful in an overwhelming way, like someone socked her in the gut but in a way that didn’t  _ hurt. _

Yet, she has changed. Vespa can see a hint of radiation damage hidden behind her bangs and pain in the one eye she has left. This Buddy is calloused, but not enough to quell her hopeless romanticism. They navigate their first few kisses awkwardly— they have to relearn each other’s mouths and bodies.

Vespa can’t help but wonder if Buddy feels… overwhelmed by how much Vespa has changed. You could peel back Buddy’s exterior and see the same tenacity and passion and cunning that she had had in her prime. Vespa can’t say the same for herself, and she feels a little overwhelmed by it herself. By the damage done to her brain— the images and sounds it conjures in her perception. It’s made her more paranoid, admittedly, but it’s something Buddy seems to be able to… dismiss, much to her surprise.

“It’s something we can learn to manage together,” she says while holding her hand tenderly, mindlessly stroking the back of it with her hand. “I’m just… glad I have you back.”

Buddy talks about grand plans for their future together— about the revenge she has planned for a galaxy cruel enough to harm the woman she loves in such a brutal way. Vespa loves this about Buddy, her strong sense of justice. She’s a revolutionary, even if the universe had falsely branded her a thief. Vespa listens to her speak with more hope than she’s been allowed to feel in fifteen years.

Her laugh is still the same, and it’s something that calms all of the nerves swirling in Vespa’s stomach. Her palms are sweaty, like she’s on a first date with the woman she’s loved for half her life.

Vespa needs to adjust, and Buddy is well aware of that. So she gives her time in separate beds. Buddy comforts her carefully when she wakes up screaming in the middle of the night from horrid nightmares— when she feels the phantom sensation of falling 250 stories. And, though she refuses to say it out loud, Vespa knows Buddy needs time too. She’s often also woken up in the middle of the night— the only words upon her lips are a desperate gasp  _ Vespa.  _ And Vespa, from her own pile of blankets on the floor, caresses her face and tells her that she isn’t going anywhere.

They spend time experiencing firsts all over again. The second first kiss at the lighthouse, the second first  _ I love you _ mumbled after a goodnight kiss. There are boundaries that still are being tested— explored. Buddy and Vespa kiss each other a little longer with the passing days, their hands brush places a bit bolder. Their bodies, much like the rest of them, are simultaneously things they know  _ so  _ well and strange entities they need to figure out how to navigate.

One night, after a session of kissing and exploration— not quite  _ daring  _ enough to go the full way yet, Buddy tugs Vespa’s arm as she tries to go to her blanket pile.

“Lie with me, darling?” she asks, her eyes wide and pleading— the artificial light of the room still managing to flatter the exposed top half of her figure. “I… I miss lying down with you. You don’t have to, of course, I know it’s rather intimate and—”

“Oh, save it, Bud,” Vespa laughs a bit, and flops back down on the bed. She wraps her arms around Buddy, who— despite being a good half a foot taller than the other— nestles herself into her, her back resting against Vespa’s chest. The lights of the room dim to nearly nothing.

They lie like that for a while, silent and almost breathless— drinking in the comfortable intimacy of the moment. Vespa places a kiss against her bare shoulder, next to a tiny bruise she had left earlier. For a moment, fifteen years melt off of them— and it feels like they’ve never left each other. There are no false images or sounds dancing in her mind.

“Are you… comfortable?” Buddy asks. She sounds almost… insecure. It’s a rare emotion from a woman who thrives off of her confidence. But Vespa hears her insecurity more and more. She walks on eggshells— as if a wrong step would cause everything to fall apart.

“Yes,” Vespa replies. And she is. Buddy’s breathing eventually falls into a slow, even rhythm and Vespa knows she’s fallen asleep.

She doesn’t sleep that night. It feels impossible— she cannot sleep in a bed with Buddy, but she can’t bring herself to let go. At least… not tonight.

The sun rises in a brilliant display of colors— each day of light looking breathtaking on Buddy, who is still sleeping calmly. There are no nightmares tonight, though she does roll over to grab onto Vespa once or twice, just for confirmation to the sleeping mind that this is real.

When the morning has comfortably settled in— still early, but only just— Buddy rolls over and smiles at Vespa with flaming red curls tumbled over the pillow. She smiles and whispers so tenderly, “Good morning, darling. I missed you.”

Vespa feels herself fall in love with Buddy all over again. Her breath is caught in her throat for a moment as she drinks in the image: it is far better than any piece of art either of them have ever stolen. “You say that every time you wake up.”

“And it’s true,” her voice grows playfully defensive. “I’ve spent so far from you already, every time I see you feels like another joyous reunion.”

“Sap,” Vespa growls, trying to conceal how her cheeks have tinted scarlet. She yawns— a reminder of a sleepless night. Buddy picks up on this quickly and cocks an eyebrow.

“You didn’t sleep, did you?” she asks, not accusatory like Vespa fears so often, but concerned. Her fingers are tracing circles around Vespa’s bicep. “It doesn’t surprise me, you always  _ did  _ struggle to share a bed with me. I remember having my fair share of bruises from when you’ve accidentally kicked me with all of your tossing and turning.”

Vespa looks away for a moment, embarrassed. “I want to share a bed with you, Bud. It’s not that I don’t love you or hate cuddling, it’s just… hard for me to relax enough to sleep sometimes. But it’s fine. I can make this work. I  _ want  _ to make this work.”

Buddy nuzzles herself into Vespa’s shoulder. “I don’t want you to be unable to sleep though, beloved. I would feel guilty if I let you get less sleep for my own comfort.”

“I probably just need to get more used to it is all,” Vespa shrugs. “I mean, we shared the same bed before, didn’t we?”

Vespa had arranged a  _ system  _ before— one she thought had fooled Buddy for all those years. The two would lie in bed together, Buddy in Vespa’s arms. Vespa would watch as she drifted off into sleep and would wait until she was  _ deep  _ into it. After that, she’d sneak out and sleep into her own little nest of blankets on the floor and sleep. She’d then crawl back into bed in the morning, so Buddy would wake up still in Vespa’s arms. To this day, she isn’t sure if Buddy ever caught on. She has the sneaking suspicion she  _ knew,  _ but found the effort so sweet and endearing that she never mentioned it, out of fear it would have made Vespa stop.

“Yes, but it was still difficult. This time, I imagine, it will only prove to be  _ more  _ difficult,” she admits, but there isn’t a trace of disappointment or dejection in her eyes. “But… you want to make this work and so do I.”

There are a fair share of sleepless nights, or nights when the hallucinations overwhelm Vespa too much and she jumps from the bed violently to try and walk it off. There are nights when she feels so  _ anxious  _ and paranoid that she doesn’t come to bed at all, staying in the nests of blankets on the floor of the Carte Blanche (this is what they have named this new ship with a promise for new adventures now) without sleeping, or with only very short periods of rest that cause her to wake with a jolt.

It gets worse in the weeks when new people are meant to join them, Vespa doesn’t trust newcomers too often. She crawls into bed with Buddy, but she’s tense and anxious the entire time. She’s in the living room of the ship often,  _ watching  _ to see if anyone is planning something. Buddy has always criticized her for being overly superstitious, ever since they were younger, but it does nothing to stop the paranoia.

Sometimes, Vespa feels an intense need to be held. These are the rarest of nights, when Buddy wraps her arms around Vespa, who’s just a  _ little  _ too weepy or scared. It’s secure and comfortable for Vespa. The sensation is grounding. But these moments are rare and, more often than not, these nights lead to both of them unable to sleep until much later, as Buddy is working to soothe Vespa into a situation where she is comfortable. Vespa falls asleep first.

But, they try to make it work. Vespa can  _ see  _ how much easier Buddy sleeps when she falls asleep in Vespa’s arms. If there was any such thing as angels or Heaven, it was in the serenity of Buddy’s face as she dozed off with the corners of her mouth ever-so-slightly upturned.  _ Angelic. _

So, Vespa devises a system or, moreso, chooses to readopt a system she had already devised. Most nights on the Carte Blanche, one of them follows the other to their room. It becomes difficult to sleep, not because of anxiety or paranoia, but because the two struggle to pull away from their kisses and affectionate gestures for the night (“We’re just making up for lost time is all,” Buddy excuses behind sweet laughter). However, eventually they manage to settle down for the night, and Vespa wraps her arms tightly around her wife. It takes a little bit of sappy, tired mumblings to each other for Buddy to fall asleep— calm and serene and wholly  _ beautiful—  _ in Vespa’s arms.

Vespa lies there for a bit, contently watching her rhythmic breathing and feeling so  _ goddamn _ lucky that she gets to see this sight almost every night. Once she realizes she won’t be able to sleep well like this, she removes herself from the bed and into the hoard of blankets she’s set up for herself and sleeps.

Buddy needs more sleep than Vespa does. She’s learned this too, as a medic. Chronic illness makes her fatigue worse. Pain flares up when she doesn’t get enough sleep, so Vespa is used to waking up earlier than her as well. So, every morning, just as the artificial morning light they have programmed to cast across the ship (in order to regulate a proper circadian rhythm) casts over the room, Vespa sneaks back into their bed and wraps her arms around her again.

Buddy is aware that Vespa does this, and she  _ does  _ find it immensely endearing. She’s woken up momentarily a few times when she tries to slip out of bed. She never opens her eyes or questions it; she simply goes back to sleep with ease and that same smile on her face until Vespa comes back in the morning.

At this point, Vespa herself is only about half-awake but she’s comfortable. She’ll allow herself to sit there, half-asleep, only gently drifting into unconsciousness sometimes. And then, when they have comfortably settled into the early morning hours, Buddy finally wakes up. She rolls over with her big, sleepy smile. There’s a light in her eyes that shines so brightly when Vespa is the last thing she sees before she goes to bed and the first thing she sees when she wakes up. Her voice is soft and dreamy.

“Good morning,” Buddy says with nothing but pure love in her voice, and Vespa feels herself falling in love over and over and over again, each time just as sweet as the last.

Vespa kisses her with an amount of daintiness that no one besides Buddy would ever think was possible from her. “Good morning.”

They realize it over a domestic, comfortable scene in the kitchen. Over their morning coffee when each one of them steals glances from the other.

“Did you sleep well, Bud?”

“Yes,” Buddy says with a happy sigh, as if she’s floating on Cloud 9. “Did you, Vespa, darling?”

“Yes.”

Their eyes meet and their smiles are bright and hopeful. Hopeful for the future both of them have promised the other. Hopeful for a future of soothing each other from nightmares and paranoia and even more hopeful for a countless number of nights filled with peaceful, serene sleeping.

They can make this work.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway very loosely inspired by the fact that i really like to cuddle and sleep w ppl im dating and the feeling is usually not incredibly mutual. i just dont date cuddlers i guess


End file.
